Midnight Is A Lonely Place Part 32

*Unaccountable things, phones.' The landlord put the second gla.s.s on the counter. *Always ring when you don't want them, and won't when you do. Do you want something to eat, sir, while I have a think about what you can do?' He selected another gla.s.s and held it up to the row of optics.

*I'd love something.' Jon was cheering up by the second. He turned as the door opened. *Your drink, Pete.' He took a moment to survey his companion who until now had been no more than a pair of broad shoulders and a round, red face, with a huge, lopsided grin. Pete was a large man altogether a not the ideal shape, Jon thought idly, for a life cramped behind the wheel of a cab. His brilliant blue eyes, surrounded by the gold wire rims of his spectacles, were topped by thick sandy eyebrows and he was wearing two clashing bright red sweaters beneath his anorak.

The two men moved to the fire and sat down. *Food.' Jon handed him the menu. *The least I can do is buy you a meal after you got me this far.'

*That's uncommon nice of you.' Pete grinned. *Any luck with a tractor?'

*The landlord is thinking.'

*Straining himself, is he?' Pete leaned back on the settle with a hefty sigh. *I've known Ron Brown here for six years. He's a good bloke. He'll fix you up. You know, I reckon I'm starting to enjoy this.'

A chicken pie with baked potatoes, several drinks and much mutual backslapping later, Pete had wheedled Ron into lending them his old Land Rover. *I'm a professional driver, mate!' he said, not for the first time. *You know it'll be safe with me.'

*In this weather and with you p.i.s.sed as a newt? I'd lose my licence letting you have it.'

*Then what say we borrow it without telling you.' Pete heaved a contented sigh and patted his stomach. *I've had a nice time here. And I've heard a good story. I reckon I would like to go and do a spot of ghost hunting to round the evening off. In fact, why don't you close up and come too? You're not getting any more customers tonight.'

Both men had listened avidly to Jon's story about Kate's ghost, a story he had shamelessly embellished in the interests of camaraderie.

*No fear, I'll head for my bed, thanks.' Ron shook his head. *I don't fancy going anywhere in this and you wouldn't either if you had any sense at all.' He stooped and groped under the counter, standing upright again to toss a bunch of keys to Pete. *Just get it back to me in one piece tomorrow, boys, OK?'

Jon stood up. *Thanks. We will.'

On the doorstep they nearly changed their minds. The wind had risen and the snow was driving straight at them; there was a sting in it which cut into Jon's face.

He hesitated. They could always wait until morning, when the sanders had been through, and go then. He glanced at Pete who was obviously thinking the same thing. Their eyes met.

*A bit of an adventure?' Pete said with a grin.

Jon nodded with a sudden surge of high sprits. He was right. This was an adventure.

They found the old Land Rover (the registration made it more than twenty years old, Jon calculated) in a lean to garage round the back of the pub. Facing away from the wind, it was surprisingly sheltered round there, and little snow had driven in under the roof. The two men climbed in and Pete, who had patted the bonnet as though greeting an old friend, inserted the key into the ignition.

*Are you sure you're OK to drive?' Jon looked at him dubiously. He wasn't worried about there being any other cars on the road, but he was imagining what it would be like if they skidded into a ditch.

*Right as rain.' Pete started the engine first go. *Don't worry. I blotted up that beer with chicken pie and coffee. I'm all right. Not that any one will be driving their best tonight. You just keep your eyes skinned for this track down to the bay.'

The Land Rover backed out easily, its huge tyres holding their own in the slippery yard and gripping the road easily. They backed out past Pete's taxi a now covered in snow a and turned onto the road again. The pub behind them, with its thatched roof and string of coloured lights looked rea.s.suringly cosy as it faded abruptly behind them and disappeared.

*A mile, he said.' Jon leaned across to peer at the milometer. He snorted. *I wonder how many times this baby has been wound back.'

*Probably only once. I reckon Ron has had her most of her life.' Pete was leaning forward again, a frown between his bushy eyebrows. He did indeed seem remarkably sober suddenly.

*A mile will be a guess, I suppose,' Jon went on thoughtfully. *People are notoriously bad at judging distances.'

*No, I think he's right. Look.' Pete slowed the Land Rover down in the middle of the road and stopped. They peered out into the darkness. A track led down steeply into the trees on their right, the features of the route flattened and hidden by the snow. Nearby was a notice, the message obliterated. They could see a car, almost hidden under the snow, parked close in beneath the trees.

*Private road to Redall Bay?' Pete glanced at Jon. *Want to take a shufty?'

Jon let himself out onto the slippery tarmac with its coating of impacted ice and snow and slid across to the notice. Brushing off the snow with his sleeve he peered at it. *Private R-d to Reda -ay. The words, blistered and worn were just visible. He walked over to the other car. Pushing the snow from the windscreen he peered in. *Europ-car.' He could just read the sticker on the windscreen.

*That's it.' He climbed back in. *And that must be Anne's car. She must have hired it at the airport. She got this far safely, anyway. What are we going to do? Try and drive?'

Pete screwed up his face. *Ron said it was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a track even when the weather's all right. I can't think why folks put themselves through such sweat. Why not get someone to come in and flatten it for them and tip a load of tar? It wouldn't cost the earth and they'd save a few axles.' He pulled the Land Rover into the side of the road. *I vote we walk.'

*All right by me.'

Jon grinned at him. His relief when Pete had enthusiastically volunteered to join in the expedition, had been so overwhelming it had surprised him. He had not realised how much he had been dreading the thought of braving a long walk from the pub through the darkness alone. He did not believe in Kate's story about a ghost for one minute, but the incredible loneliness of the night, the snow, the silence, the wind, were all a bit unnerving.

Tucking the Land Rover in under the fir trees next to the red Fiesta, they reached into the back for the canvas holdall a Jon's a and a plastic carrier containing four cans of lager, donated by Ron as a farewell gesture. They locked up and stood looking down the path.

*Ready?' Pete grinned at his companion.

*Ready.'

Jon forced himself to smile back, but suddenly he had begun to shiver.

LXI.

They were there again. Nightmare voices. Hatred and anger, forcing her from her bed, until she stood, listening, in the centre of the room. Listening to something far away. The sea. The sea was the danger now. She could hear the roar of the waves, see the walls of spume crashing across the dunes.

Tell them. Tell them my story.

Claudia was the stronger now. Her voice rising above his in the howl of the wind.

Tell them. Tell them. Let the people judge.

Then he was there. Marcus. His voice the louder. Hatred. Anger.

*No!'

Spinning round slowly, Alison raised her hands to her head and clutched at her hair. They were fighting; fighting inside her; fighting for the last of her strength.

The grave. She must go to the grave.

She must save it from the water.

She must die.

Die with the b.i.t.c.h wh.o.r.e in the clay.

Live.

Die.

The door opened quietly and she walked out onto the landing, her bare feet warm on the thin carpet. Turning towards the stairs, she began to walk down, seeing nothing but the vision in her head. In the dark at the bottom of the stairs her fingers went unerringly to the latch on the inside of the door, though it was pitch dark there, without lights. The door opened and she stepped into the living room. Silently she moved between the sleeping figures towards the hall.

By the fire Paddy stirred uncomfortably in his chair, but, worn out, he did not open his eyes, even when the cold draught from the open front door stirred the logs into flame in the hearth.

Still barefoot she stood on the doorstep staring sightlessly out into the snow. Something made her pause a in her sleep some inner guardian directed her to step into boots and jacket a then she was gone, closing the door softly behind her.

In the living room the others slept on.

LXII.

Their boots sliding in the snow, Jon and Pete tramped slowly down the track. Pete's cheerful patter had finally died away and apart from the occasional heartfelt curse as he slipped in the hardening ruts, he had fallen silent. Jon stopped every now and then to stare gloomily ahead. The snow had lessened now, and he could see clearly all round them. The moon, high above the clouds cast a flat, white radiance across the woods. He was sure they were lost.

The track they had been following seemed suddenly to have petered out and they had been forced for the past twenty minutes or so to follow what could have been a rabbit path through the undergrowth. Whatever it was it was narrow and full of brambles, and the thick snow had on several occasions piled in over the top of his boots.

Behind him Pete cursed again. Jon grinned. Stopping, he turned. *Can't be far now.'

*No? I reckon this place of yours is like some kind of Brigadoon. It only appears every hundred years or so.'

*Please G.o.d, you're wrong.' Jon's reply was heartfelt. He shuddered as a gust of wind tore at his clothes.

A hundred yards further on the woods began to change. The thick oak and hawthorn copse became more spa.r.s.e. The air grew if anything colder and, turning a bend in the track Jon and Pete found themselves at the edge of the dunes.

Narrowing his eyes against the wind, Jon stared round. *Now where?'

*I can hear the sea.' Pete cupped his hand around his ear. *Just over that sand. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, it's close.'

They scrambled up to the top of the dune and found themselves overlooking the beach. Huge lines of angry breakers creamed up the sh.o.r.e, crashing onto the sand, and over the water they could see racing towards them the brown, bellying clouds which carried the snow.

*Another five minutes and we'll have a white-out.' Jon turned to Pete, worried. *Which way do you think?'

*Left.' Pete spoke unhesitatingly. *You said the farmhouse looked over the estuary. We've come too far to the east. We've got to the sea for real here.' Turning he began to tramp along in the lee of the dune. *Come on. We'll get some shelter down here. G.o.d help us when that lot hits land.'

It seemed like hours before they saw the cottage looming before them in the darkness. Eyes screwed up against the snow Pete grabbed at Jon's arm and pointed. *Found the b.u.g.g.e.r!'

Jon grinned with relief. At last. Thank G.o.d. Kate.

Hurrying now with new energy the two men fought their way up the dunes and across the snow covered garden, ever aware of the crash of mighty waters behind them. The tide, as the forecast had warned, was going to rise and rise.

Ducking round towards the front door they found themselves sheltered at last from the wind. *I hope to G.o.d she's there.' Jon didn't like the look of the dark windows. The cottage felt empty. Even from here he was pretty sure that they would find no fire; no one at home. And who could blame her? If he was living here, within spitting distance of the North Sea and he had heard a forecast like the one they were broadcasting today he would have packed and moved out on the spot.

The snow in front of the front door was smooth and clean. No sign of footprints. Raising his hand to the knocker, Jon surrept.i.tiously crossed his frozen fingers.

The door swung open. His heart sank. *I suppose this is the right place?' There should have been locks and bolts. There were locks and bolts. His hand located them on the inside of the door as cautiously, he pushed it open. *h.e.l.lo!' He called. *Kate?'

Silence.

He took a step in. *Kate, are you there?' His searching fingers found a light switch and he clicked it up and down several times. *No light.'

Pete had followed him into the hall out of the wind. *Bit ripe in here, mate.' Pete sniffed hard. *Somebody's puked.' He reached into his pocket for the torch and shone it around the hall. *There's obviously no one here. I reckon your girlfriend moved out a for the night at least.' Stepping forward, he pushed open a door and shone the light inside. *Kitchen. b.l.o.o.d.y electric cooker. No electrics.' He was trying that light switch as well. He turned and made for the door on the opposite side of the hall. *Living room. With a wood stove. We could light that at least. Oh my G.o.d!' The roving beam of light was directed at the sofa.

*What is it?' Jon pushed through the door behind him and peered over his shoulder. *Oh Christ!' Both men stood where they were for a moment, their eyes fixed on the shape beneath the blanket on the sofa. It was Jon who stepped reluctantly forward. Behind him Pete shone the torch onto the battered face.

Jon closed his eyes. For a moment he thought he was going to throw up, but somehow he controlled himself as he turned and staggered out of the room. There was no need to check if the man was dead.

Pete followed him. *Know who he is?'

Jon nodded. *Bill Norcross. The friend I was telling you about.'

*s.h.i.t.'

*As you say.' They moved back into the kitchen and Jon sat down at the counter, his gloved hands to his face. *What the h.e.l.l happened in there?'

*I'd say he'd been beaten. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, Jon, mate. Where's your girl? Where's her sister?'

Jon shook his head. Suddenly he was shaking like a leaf.

Pete reached onto the dresser. The fading torch beam had revealed a whisky bottle lying in a mess of earth. It turned out to be empty. *You sit here, mate. I'll take a look round the rest of the place.'

Jon shook his head. *I'll come with you.'

*There's no need.' Both men were thinking the same thing. Were Kate and Anne up there somewhere?

*No. But I'll come all the same.'

They took the stairs two at a time. It was Pete who pushed open first one door then the other. Both rooms were empty. They stood in Kate's bedroom and stared round. Sand and earth had drifted across the floor. The bed was unmade a blankets piled in a heap in the middle of it, and there was earth there as well. The room was full of the sweet, damp smell of it. And something else. Scent. The overpowering stench of it had completely blocked out the unpleasant smell that was seeping up the stairs from below.

*No one here.' Pete stated the obvious. *I reckon they got out all right.'

Jon sat down on the bed. His fingers trailed across the disarrayed sheets and he found Kate's nightshirt, tangled amongst the pillows, beneath which presumably she had folded it at some point. He recognised it. It was blue with cheerful scarlet stripes. Smart. Almost masculine. He remembered the way her long, slim legs emerged from the indecently high hemline. Oh, G.o.d, Kate. Where was she? *What do we do?' Holding the nightshirt against his chest, he found he was suddenly feeling very weak.

*Go and look for this farmhouse. It shouldn't be too far away. That's where they'll be.' Pete's voice was strong. Confident. Not for the first time, Jon thanked whichever fate had dictated that this particular Colchester taxi driver should be with him tonight.

Closing the front door behind them again, they stood outside the cottage and stared round. There was no clue to which direction to go. Any path there might have been had long since been covered by the snow. Pete shone the torch around once and was about to switch it off when he saw the tracks. A set of footprints. Recent footprints which had pa.s.sed close to the door and went on across the snow back towards the sea.

*Someone's been past here within the last ten minutes or so, while we were inside,' he commented.

Kate? Anne?